


Lay Down Your Wings

by Sororising



Series: Skyward Bound [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Disability, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Needles, Off-Screen Injury, Trans Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 06:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12227364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sororising/pseuds/Sororising
Summary: They go on their next date - their first, technically, but they both agree that the evening in the pub had felt more than a little date-like - a few days later, and Sam finds it just as easy to talk to Jim as he had the first night. He learns that Jim has a mechanical engineering degree and is studying part-time for a theoretical physics one; he learns that Jim has very strict rules about the times of days he’ll drink coffee, and he learns that making Jim laugh is rapidly becoming one of his favourite things to do in the world.God, Sarah’s never going to let him hear the end of this.They decide to meet up again the next day, and Sam tries not to be too hopeful about where this is going.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My collaboration with the amazing Charlie aka zamnwilson for the Sam Wilson Birthday Bang! Go follow them on [tumblr](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com/) and [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioloyg/pseuds/bioloyg) if you aren't already.
> 
> The first art piece, for Sam is [here](http://sororising.tumblr.com/post/165963210883/zamnwilson-lay-down-your-wings-by-sororising)  
> And the second, for Rhodey, is [here](http://sororising.tumblr.com/post/165952668718/one-half-of-the-incredible-art-by-zamnwilson-for)
> 
> I love them both so so much! Thank you Charlie <3
> 
> This has been such a fantastic event from start to finish, with a mod team that I don't know how to thank enough. So, um. THANK YOU!! But times a million. Also thank you to everyone in the SWBB slack chat, because I was never very good at talking in there but a lot of resources and things you all posted helped me out a lot. I will miss lurking there and will continue to happily lurk if there is a new chat!
> 
> Please be aware that this is really not canon-compliant, there are events that happen in the MCU that aren't relevant here at all.
> 
> Happy (slightly late) birthday Sam!!

* * *

The sound of the doorbell makes Sam jump a lot more than he wants to admit to himself. He’d been hovering in that half-asleep state he’d never allowed himself to stay in when he was enlisted, and the sharp bell tone jerks him awake in less than a second, his heart speeding up for a few seconds while he places the sound in context.

It’s been nearly four months since he came back to DC as a civilian rather than a soldier, but time feels - elastic, somehow. There are days where he could swear it feels like only a few weeks ago he was given his honourable discharge, and then there are days where his life there feels as though it happened to someone else entirely.

Today is one of the first kind. He checks the time on his phone just as the doorbell rings again. 11am. Not that weird of a time to still be in bed. He wouldn’t really have cared if it was, but at least if it turns out to be someone from his family he can use that argument. Sleeping in is definitely a thing non-depressed people do, right?

He’s technically dressed, because he went to sleep in sweatpants and the t-shirt he happened to be wearing last night instead of changing into pyjamas, so he just throws a hoodie and socks on and quickly swipes deodorant under each armpit. He goes to the bathroom and hears the doorbell ring a third times just as he’s finished - fuck, it really must be someone in his family if they still aren’t giving up.

But when he opens the door there’s no-one. What the hell? He should have just stayed in bed.

Then a man pokes his head out from the stairwell and sees Sam standing there, and jogs back up the hallway. “Hi,” he says, not looking put off when Sam just blinks. “I didn’t think you were in. Sorry to bother you.”

“Who are you?”

Sam just about manages to leave _the fuck_ out of the question, which he thinks he should get credit for. He’ll tell his sister about it later; they usually text after dinner and give each other a quick recap of their days - his is sometimes a bit edited, depending how he’s feeling, but Sarah’s scarily good at knowing when he’s holding something back so he tries not to lie to her outright.

“I’m Colonel James Rhodes,” the man says, and - oh. Shit. Maybe not the wrong door, then. “Can I come in?”

Sam just looks at him. “ID?”

Rhodes grins at him, a much more open expression than Sam’s used to seeing on senior officers, and pulls out his wallet. Sam checks his ID - not that he’d really disbelieved the guy; he’s clearly military and Sam’s pretty sure he’s heard of Colonel Rhodes before anyway - and reluctantly moves aside.

“Yeah, come in,” Sam says, trying to remember if there’s been phone calls recently he hasn’t answered. He can’t think of anything in particular, which means this isn’t a standard visit, which means it’s to do with the EXO-7 project. Great. Just what he needed on a random Tuesday - or Wednesday? Fuck, he shouldn’t be losing track of things like that.

He gestures towards the living room, which is basically the same room as the hallway once you walk past the bookcases. 

“Sorry to interrupt your day,” Rhodes says, not actually sounding all that sorry. “This won’t take long. Just a few details to update, a quick check in and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Right.” Sam decides not to mention that there hadn’t been anything going on in his day anyway. 

“Um, I changed my name,” he says before he can talk himself out of it. People change their names for all sorts of reasons; he doesn’t think this counts as coming out. “Fresh start, and all that.”

“Not a problem,” Rhodes says easily, which - of course it wasn’t a fucking problem, why would it have been? “So your name is?”

“Sam.”

It still gives him a small jolt of that weird feeling halfway between excitement and nerves when he says it out loud. The same way someone knocking into him on the subway and saying _sorry, sir, didn’t see you there_ does; the same way ticking the **M** box on forms does.

Sam wonders if it will ever go away. He isn’t sure if he wants it to or not.

* * *

“My name's Sam,” he'd said to the VA counsellor assigned to him at their first meeting, not knowing the words were going to leave his mouth until they were already echoing out into the room. “I’m a guy.”

He had been building himself up to it since a conversation with his sister when she’d pointed out that they couldn’t help him properly if he didn’t actually trust them to, but it had still been one of the scarier moments of his life. Which was saying something, given his experiences so far.

Elaine had barely even blinked, just nodded, updated his file and asked about pronouns. Sam wasn’t one to second-guess things when he doesn't have to, but for a few minutes it had all seemed much too easy to be real.

He definitely hadn't been thinking that by the end of the appointment, though, when his already complicated-looking folder full of information about benefits applications and housing had been joined by another one, this time about what different insurance companies would cover and what forms artificial testosterone came in and exactly how much of a pain in the ass it was to change your name from state to state.

Overwhelmed didn't even begin to describe it. Elaine had looked more than a bit apologetic as she'd waved him off, but Sam had tried to keep his emotions off his face. He knows how these things go, knows that pretty much every VA in the country is overworked and understaffed, and maybe Elaine would have liked to talk some more about things but at least she'd started him down the right path.

In theory, anyway. Both folders were still sitting on the bookshelf in the hallway, gathering dust along with the remains of his aunt's book collection – which is mostly a weird mix of werewolf romance and sci-fi. Sam keeps picking books up at random and reading the first few pages, but he hasn't found anything he wants to stick with yet.

There's one leaflet he'd managed to read all the way through that’s still lying on the coffee table, a basic run-down of the effects of HRT on transmasculine people. Between that and the name announcement thing, Rhodes would have to be pretty clueless not to put the pieces together, which is making Sam a lot more nervous than he'd have expected. He’d compartmentalised so much in the Air Force; having two major parts of his life meet unexpectedly isn’t exactly comfortable.

He decides to go with being obvious, then if Rhodes has an issue with it he can just leave. “First name Sam, middle name Paul. For your records,” he adds, even though they both clearly know that isn’t why he says it.

It’s kind of a useful test, when he needs one. Sam’s a pretty gender-neutral name these days, which can come in handy when he’s in situations where he isn’t quite sure how people would react to a trans guy - or just when he doesn’t want to be bothered finding out. But on the other hand, having a name that people can choose to interpret however they want can be a pain in the ass. Paul’s a difficult one to misgender, and Rhodes gains himself a few points by just giving Sam a quick nod when he hears it.

Sam bites the inside of his cheek, trying to focus. He wonders if he’ll ever treat coming out as something casual, as easy as introducing himself used to be when he was a kid. Maybe he just has to do it a few thousand more times. The thought isn’t one he wants to dwell on. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just water, thanks,” Rhodes says, glancing around the living room in a way that puts Sam on edge. He's feeling defensive, which is just about his least favourite feeling, and he has no idea what the protocol is here. Can he ask Rhodes to leave and come back another day? Why the hell hadn't he called ahead in the first place? Or emailed at least; Sam’s pretty sure he only gave his new mobile number to his family now that he thinks about it.

“Sure,” is all he says out loud, and he makes his way into the closet-sized kitchen. There's no oven, just a stovetop and a microwave that looks about twenty years old. A sink and a knee-high portable fridge which had been his sister's when she was in college complete the room. Sam's been eating a lot of takeout he can't really afford and heading to his mom's house for dinner whenever he can deal with being around people.

No space for a dishwasher, of course. Which he hasn't cared about till right now, when he's trying to find a clean glass for Rhodes.

“Fuck it,” he mutters to himself, and grabs a bottle of water from a multipack that his dad had brought over when Sam had moved in. It'll be room temperature, but people who don't bother to call ahead can deal.

He grabs a second bottle for himself, figuring it'll at least give him something to do with his hands. He's kind of pissed off that this guy is making him feel so awkward in his own – well, not home exactly, but his own living space. 

He goes into the living room and hands Rhodes the water, then sits down on the edge of a chair.

“So. I take it you didn’t get the letter.”

Sam tries to makes sense of that, but doesn’t come up anything. “Letter?”

Rhodes nods, very business-like. “They’re sending someone round to check up on everyone who was involved in the EXO-7 project,” he says. “Make sure you’re not about to go to the press. See how you’re doing, and all that.”

Sam bites back his first thought, which is _how many of us are even left to check on?_ “Right. I didn’t get the letter,” he says instead. “And I signed all the NDAs. I’m good.”

He doesn’t really feel vindicated that he’d guessed right. Mostly he’s just feeling numb, the same way he always does when he thinks about Riley.

Rhodes looks hesitant for the first time. “It’s - look, okay. Officially? I’m keeping track of everyone involved in projects with the kind of tech no-one wants to fall into the wrong hands. Unofficially, we want to know how you’re doing. Settling back into life stateside and all that.”

Sam looks round at the living room. It doesn’t look all that different from when his aunt had first moved out and left it empty. “I’m fine.”

Rhodes sighs, not looking at all convinced - which is fair enough, since Sam hadn’t bothered to put even a second of effort into being convincing. “Wilson - Sam. I can put whatever you want on the forms. If you don’t want us to know about the name change, that’s fine. If you want everyone to tick off all the boxes and not bother you again, we can do that. I wasn’t directly involved with anything, it wasn’t my area. But - I kept an eye on it. I know about what happened with -”

“Yeah,” Sam says abruptly, more so that he won’t have to hear Riley’s name out loud than because he actually has anything to say to Rhodes. “I - look, you caught me at a bad time. I’m sorry I didn’t get the letter.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Rhodes says, and Sam looks at him closely. There’s a hint of pain behind his open expression, and - oh. Sam thinks about the VA, about the people who work with vets, about the kind of thoughts that cross their minds whenever someone stops responding to contact.

“I’m fine,” he says again, trying to mean it this time. “Or - getting there. Seriously.”

It’s not the truth, but it isn’t quite a lie either.

The words hang in the air for a moment. “Good,” Rhodes says briskly, when it’s clear Sam isn’t going to offer up anything more. “I should get back to New York, then. If there’s nothing else you wanted to bring up?”

“You came up just to see me?”

Rhodes laughs. “Not just for that. Had to drop into SHIELD as well. I’m helping coordinate the clean-up in New York. Kind of in a unique position there.”

“How come?” Sam asks, curious despite himself. He hasn’t been back to New York since the invasion. Sarah has, and she’d cried for nearly an hour when he’d next seen her. Aliens. God, he still can’t fully believe that. It’s as though the world’s slipped into another dimension when no-one was looking, one where phrases like _alien invasion_ can be heard on the evening news instead of staying put in sci-fi where they belong.

“Well, there’s not many people who can get both Tony Stark and the DoD guys to listen to them,” Rhodes says with a quick grin.

That sounds intriguing. “Anything I can do to help?”

Sam freezes as soon as the words have left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say them, but now that he has he feels like he doesn’t want to take them back. One of the things that’s been hardest to adjust to is feeling useless over here. The VA have pointed him towards at least a dozen volunteering programs, but he hasn’t contacted any of them yet.

Rhodes puts down his water bottle from where he’d been about to take a drink, looking taken aback. “With clean-up, you mean? Or with the Avengers?”

Sam shrugs. He hadn’t really been intending to put the offer out there in the first place.

“Look, I’ll give you my number,” Rhodes says, after hesitating for a moment. “My personal one. Right now, you should be focusing on getting yourself healthy. And any other priorities you might have.” He glances down at the HRT leaflet again, and Sam has to fight the urge to grab it and stuff it under a couch cushion. “And even after that I can’t guarantee anything. But it’s worth a try, yeah?”

Sam just nods. Maybe it is worth a try, maybe not. He just wants something to work towards, and helping rebuild a city sounds a lot more interesting than anything else he’s been offered recently.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

“I've given other people shots,” Sam says, trying to make himself look like he isn’t desperate to move things along. He has the horrible - and completely irrational - feeling that someone’s about to swoop down and take the syringe away from him.

“Well, you'll know what you're doing then,” the nurse says with the calm voice of someone who’s heard that a hundred times already. “But don't worry if you still freeze up a bit. Your brain isn't exactly wired to make sticking a needle into your thigh seem like a good idea. Which, you know, is smart from an evolutionary point of view but not so useful here.”

Sam laughs, more because he appreciates her trying to put him at ease than because he actually wants to. 

Two minutes later, everything about his life feels different, as ridiculous as that might sound to someone else.

“Holy shit,” he says, unable to stop smiling. “I'm on T. I'm on T. Fuck. Ah - sorry. I just - I kind of thought it would never happen, you know?”

The nurse smiles warmly at him. “Congratulations, Mr Wilson,” she says, holding out a sharps bin. “You doing anything to celebrate?”

Sam's mind is still stuck on a loop of _it's finally happening, I can't believe it,_ but he takes a moment to think about it. “Drinks with my sister,” he says, already taking out his phone to text Sarah.

“Have fun,” she says, making a few notes on her computer. “And if you don't feel up to self-injecting at home next time, feel free to book in here again. We never mind, and it’s best to get everything right.”

“Sure,” Sam says, glancing at her name tag. “Thanks, Robyn.” He wants to remember her, even if he never sees her again. He wants to remember every part of this journey, no matter how small, so that he can look back any time he feels down and think about how he’d never, ever thought he would get this far even two years ago. It’s a good feeling. He’s determined to hold onto it as long as he can.

* * *

The pub Sam and Sarah usually meet up at is a quiet one most weeknights. They do live music on weekends, which is why Sam avoids it then. Tonight, they have a whole corner of it to themselves, which would be great if Sarah would show up already and stop making Sam look like an awkward loner who’s been stood up.

She walks in and looks straight over at where he’s sitting, because he’s kind of predictable these days. 

“I’m not late,” she says as soon as she’s within hearing range. “You’re always early. And Jody needed help with an art project.” She holds out her hands, palms up, and Sam laughs as he sees flecks of glitter on them.

“Don’t you know by now to never let her within ten feet of a glitter pot? Isn’t that like the first rule of parenting?”

“Fuck you,” she says, taking a long drink from the beer Sam had been nursing for the past fifteen minutes. “I’m getting something stronger than this, and then we’re toasting.” She grins at him and walks over to the bar, and Sam feels a familiar warmth wash over him.

They’d always been close, the two of them. A few people had thought they were twins when they were younger, which had always made Sam uncomfortable for reasons he could never quite figure out. At least their parents had never forced them to do the whole cutesy matching outfits past the age of about five, and other than the occasional dress for family reunions they’d mostly let Sam wear what he wanted.

Sarah had been shocked for about ten minutes when Sam had first come out to her, after his first tour of duty. Then she’d taken it in stride the same way they accepted everything about each other. Their parents had taken longer to come around, and Sam’s never going to forget how easy telling his sister had felt.

Sarah comes back with her drink, and immediately raises it for a toast. “To my little brother,” she says, with that smile that Sam knows is supposed to be a teasing one but which always comes across as sincere anyway. 

He knocks his glass gently against hers. “To me growing shitty facial hair for the next three years,” he says. “Oh, and my voice breaking. Fun times.”

“You’ll love it,” Sarah says, which he can already tell is very true.

They chat about their lives for a bit - well, mostly about Jody, because the adventures of a five-year-old never fail to be amusing. Sam looks up every time the door opens, and then one time he looks up and recognises the guy who walks in, which he hadn’t been expecting.

It’s Colonel Rhodes, who Sam hadn’t forgotten about but who he'd just assumed he'd never see again. He’s wearing a soft-looking maroon jumper and a deep purple scarf, clothes nothing like the drab ones he’d shown up to Sam’s apartment in. He goes straight up to the bar, and Sam spares a moment to wonder how awkward it would be if he and Sarah tried to leave without drawing any attention.

They’ve got a tab going, so the answer is without a doubt _very._

Sarah looks at him. “Do you know that guy?”

She’s always been annoyingly good at reading him.

“Not really,” Sam says, which is nothing but the truth. He has a feeling Sarah isn’t going to let him get away with that, though. “He’s military. Showed up at the apartment a few months ago to check I was still alive, I guess.”

His number is still in Sam’s phone, but he hasn’t thought much about it. Sometimes it’ll catch his eye as he scrolls down his list of contacts, but it’s only ever for a second - a kind of momentary _what if_ that passes by almost as soon as he’s thought it.

He has been keeping up with the news on the Avengers, though that’s mostly because it’s near enough impossible not to. Public opinion is starting to become divided on the topic; they’d been heroes in the wake of the Chitauri invasion, but now a few people are starting to throw around words like _vigilante._

Sam only has Rhodes to go by, and maybe he’d have a different opinion if he’d met someone like Tony Stark first, but he’s pretty in favour of anyone trying to keep the world safe. God knows there’s enough bystanders already.

Sarah coughs, very obviously. “You going to go say hi?”

Sam glances back over to the bar, where Rhodes is sitting with what looks like a small glass of whiskey. “Nah,” he says, taking a sip of his - now not cold enough - beer. “He didn’t see me, right?”

Almost as soon as he’s said it, Rhodes turns and look around the pub quickly; the kind of movement that’s more making sure looks suspicious than just casually checking the place out. His eyes skim over Sam and Sarah for half a second before he looks back, then he gives them a nod and turns back to the bar.

“Right,” Sarah says dryly. 

“Whatever,” Sam mutters. “I’m still not going over there.”

Sarah kicks him under the table. “I wasn’t going to make you. Just saying, you could use a friend who isn’t related to you.”

Ouch. But - not untrue, not really.

Sarah’s phone starts vibrating where it’s lying on the table, and she makes a hilariously dramatic face as she picks it up and answers. She listens for a few seconds, then rolls her eyes. “Why would you - don’t give her carrots, okay, she won’t eat anything orange this week - yeah, I know that’s BS, but she’ll forget about it in a few days so why bother - okay, look, I can hear her crying, I’m just going to come back. See you in a few.”

She ends the call and looks down at the table for a moment, before looking at Sam with a very obvious apology in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she says, and Sam knows she means it. “We’re supposed to be celebrating you.”

Sam clinks his almost-empty glass against hers. “S’all good,” he says. “Cheers to me sticking a needle in my leg and all that. Give Jody a hug from me, tell her I still want her to teach me how to make those friendship bracelets."

Sarah still hesitates for a moment, but then she takes a ten dollar bill out of her wallet and leaves it on the table - Sam doesn’t argue, because he knows he’d lose and he knows she wants to get home to her daughter. She stands up and gives him a quick side-hug. “Thanks, bro,” she says quietly. “Congrats. Seriously. We’re all really proud of you. Jody’s so happy to have an uncle, it’s really cute.”

Sam isn’t going to tear up at that, he _isn’t._ “Thanks,” he says, looking very closely at the dregs of his beer. “See you - um, this weekend? I could stop by on Saturday.”

“Sounds good,” Sarah says, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll text you. And, Sam? You know the hot guy at the bar you said you didn’t know? He keeps looking at you when you’re not looking. Okay got to go, bye!”

Sam’s barely had time to register her words, never mind think up any kind of comeback, before the pub door is swinging closed behind her. 

Great. 

And now Rhodes is coming over, he realises a second later.

“Mind if I join you?”

Sam does mind, thank you very much. Except - when he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure that gut reactions is just because he’s not used to socialising much these days. Rhodes had seemed like a decent guy, and Sam’s evening plans have just been derailed, so why not?

“Sure,” Sam finds himself saying. “How’ve you been?”

* * *

Three hours later, the bartender is looking at them with the universal look of all customer service employees who are worried you might be about to outstay your welcome, and they end up leaving together, walking out into the crisp evening air.

“I had a great time tonight,” Sam says, hopefully keeping the surprise out of his voice, and it’s only after he’s said it that he realises how much it sounds like something you’d say after a first date.

“Me too,” Jim says - that he prefers Jim rather than James had been one of the first things Sam had learned about him. He looks like he wants to say something more, but just nods and wraps his scarf a bit more tightly.

Looks like it’s up to Sam to make the next move, then. He takes a moment to think about whether or not he _wants_ there to be a next move and decides that, yeah, he really does. “Want to do this again sometime?”

“Sure,” Jim answers almost before Sam’s finished speaking. “I mean - no, yeah. I meant yes. Um.”

Sam smiles at him. “I’ll text you?” He means it this time; he’d been surprised by how well he and Jim had got on once they’d mutually decided to not talk about anything to do with the forces.

Jim smiles back. “I’d like that.”

* * *

They go on their next date - their first, technically, but they both agree that the evening in the pub had felt more than a little date-like - a few days later, and Sam finds it just as easy to talk to Jim as he had the first night. He learns that Jim has a mechanical engineering degree and is studying part-time for a theoretical physics one; he learns that Jim has very strict rules about the times of days he’ll drink coffee, and he learns that making Jim laugh is rapidly becoming one of his favourite things to do in the world.

God, Sarah’s never going to let him hear the end of this.

They decide to meet up again the next day, and Sam tries not to be too hopeful about where this is going.

* * *

Sam tries to go round to see Sarah and Jody at least once a week, usually on a Saturday. He’s been spending a lot of time with Jim recently - not doing all that much, usually just hanging out at one of their apartments, sometimes cooking something or sometimes just ordering takeout and watching TV. It’s a nice, peaceful way to spend time together, which is something Sam had never thought he’d like as much as it turns out he does.

He wants to make sure Jody knows he’ll always be there for her, though, so he heads round to see them on an afternoon when Jim has paperwork to catch up on. 

“Uncle Sam! We going to play princesses?” She’s dragging a cute little wheely suitcase behind her; it isn’t zipped up properly and Sam can see what looks like a feather boa shedding bits of pink fluff onto the carpet as it trails after her.

“Sure we are,” he says, keeping his amusement to himself. He loves hanging out with Jody. Kids are interesting but uncomplicated in a way that he can’t help but miss whenever he’s interacting with people who always want to know more than he’s willing to share. Sure, Jody might ask him why he’s her uncle instead of her aunt now, but if she does it will be out of the same childlike curiosity that makes her ask why the sky is blue. There won’t be any of the uncomfortable prurience or invasive questions he’s braced for every time someone starts a conversation with _hey, can I ask you something kind of personal?”_

Jody drops the suitcase down and sits down next to it, opening it to show an array of pink things and one very incongruous plastic dinosaur. 

“Here,” Sam

“Jody, maybe your uncle doesn’t want to paint his nails,” Sarah says from where she’s reading on the couch.

“It’s cool,” Sam says quickly. 

“You sure?”

“Yep,” he says, hoping she doesn’t ask again. He knows she’s looking out for him, making sure he isn’t doing anything that will make him feel too dysphoric, and he honestly appreciates it. But he’s pretty aware of where his limits are these days, and he had no problem with letting his niece attempt to give him a manicure. “No glitter, though,” he says, with a quick grin at his sister.

“Definitely no glitter,” Sarah says in her sternest mom-voice. 

Jody pouts for a second. “Imaginary glitter?”

Sam fights back his smile, pretending to think very seriously about the question. “I _guess_ we can have some imaginary glitter,” he says. “But only a little bit, okay?”

* * *

Sam goes round to Jim’s DC apartment after he’s left Sarah’s, trying to remember what food Jim might have that they can fix up a quick dinner with. He likes spending time there; it’s impersonal, but only in the way a nice hotel room is, whereas Sam’s place still feels unwelcoming even after months of living there.

“Nice nails,” Jim says as Sam’s chopping up tomatos and basil.

Sam looks down at the smudged purple and turquoise splotches. “Jody,” 

“I figured. I’d have been judging you if that was you.”

Sam jerks his knife away from the chopping board and looks over at Jim, startled. “What?”

He doesn’t know what to think - 

Jim frowns, then his eyes go wide. “Shit,” he says. “I meant because it looks like a six-year-old did it, not because you had your nails painted. I should have thought about how that would sound.”

Oh. That makes way more sense than whatever Sam’s subconscious had been thinking, but he still doesn’t quite feel calm enough to go back to the cooking. “It’s fine,” he says, because it _is_ fine. 

“Sam, come on. I know what I sounded like. It’s okay if you were worried.”

Sam isn’t sure to answer. He hadn’t been worried, exactly, but - well, maybe he had been, just for a second. “I love how you dress,” he says, hoping it doesn’t come across as a change of subject. “The bright colours when you’re off-duty, that purple suit, all your shoes. You have a really great sense of style, and it’s - refreshing, I guess? That you like wearing clothes like that.”

Jim leans back against the counter, looking thoughtful. “It was partly a reaction against wearing a uniform for so long, not going to lie,” he says. “And partly - men’s clothes are so boring, you know? I like keeping things interesting. But I know that me wearing a pink shirt or whatever and you wearing one aren’t the same thing. I know that.”

So Jim had followed Sam’s train of thought. “Yeah, exactly,” he says, trying to think of how to phrase what he’s thinking. “Like, fuck toxic masculinity and all that, I obviously agree. Men can wear make-up and dresses if they want to. But - as a trans guy, especially as one who still doesn’t pass half the time, it’s different. It feels different.”

“Of course,” Jim says matter-of-factly. “I can - well, I can’t _understand_ in quite that way. But I know what you’re saying. You can always tell me if I say something wrong.”

“I know,” Sam says, instead of what he wants to say, which - absurdly - feel something like _fuck, I kind of love you._ It’s definitely too soon for that. Right? “My nails look awesome, though,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“I’m going to have to get Jody to paint mine next time we see her,” Jim says, turning round again and turning the heat back up on the stove - Sam hadn’t even noticed he’d turned it down.

“Sounds good,” Sam says, and he realises he’s smiling when he looks back down at his nails.

* * *

Sam is just slightly taller than Jim, which he secretly likes. He knows that being AFAB had helped him in the EXO-7 selection process, since they’d been looking to keep weight down as much as possible, but that had pretty much been the first and last time it had been anything other than a weight around his neck. He’d worked out more than almost anyone else in his unit, and kept his hair as short as he could, but none of that had really stopped people other than Riley misgendering him.

Some days Sam can’t stop thinking about how nice it is to be in a relationship. He had sort of been thinking of trying to date in a few years, once he’d figured out what he wanted to do with his life. He hadn’t been looking for anything, and yet here they are.

He feels like he and Jim maybe skipped a few of the usual awkward getting-to-know each other dates and went straight to the established relationship part. Maybe it’s because they’re both aware of their ages, maybe it’s just because they get on so well that things had fallen into place faster than they might have done with someone else, but whatever it is, Sam’s glad of it.

It’s not like everything’s perfect. Neither of them are good at sharing a bed; Sam still gets nightmares and Jim is so used to his own space that he finds it off-putting having another person so close. They argue sometimes, mostly over little things like whether or not it’s gross to drink milk that’s only a day past its sell-by, or which TV show they should watch. 

It’s all starting to feel weirdly domestic, which Sam doesn’t want to think too closely about. He’s worried that once he does some penny will drop and mess everything up, and he’d really like to keep this going for as long as he can manage.

He’s pretty sure Jim feels the same way. He hopes so.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Sam’s staring at the hair on his forearms in a way that would seem way too intent if anyone was watching. He _thinks_ it might be thicker than it was a couple weeks ago, but his mind might just be playing tricks on him. Maybe he should have taken more photos? He’s got a couple pre-T selfies that he’ll maybe use as comparison pictures in a year or two, but he’s seen transmasc people with pretty much a whole gallery of before-and-afters: leg hair and back muscles and acne and jawline - a hundred tiny details that strangers use to categorise them without thinking about it; beard and broad shoulders equals man, no matter how many times it’s been proven over and over that you can’t tell someone’s gender just by looking at them.

Fuck that. Sam gets why people want all the comparisons; it is really cool to see your body changing. T is incredible, he loves testing out how low a note he can sing, and he can’t wait for actual facial hair - he’s already decided that he’s going to grow a moustache and possibly a goatee at the earliest opportunity, no matter how much his sister teases him for it.

Sarah’s been great right from the start, but even she doesn’t quite get it. Sometimes it feels like cis people think of medical transition as Sam _becoming_ a man, instead of him already being one and just wanting to feel more comfortable in his own body, wanting other people to stop adding up all the little ways they notice him and coming up with the wrong answer.

He tugs at the hair on his arm and tries to stop thinking, flopping back down on his bed and staring up at the ceiling as though it might have some helpful instructions written on it about what exactly he should be doing with his day.

Fuck it. Jim’s been asking every so often if Sam’s up for meeting his friends, and Sam keeps putting it off because half of Jim’s friends just happen to be the _Avengers._ But today doesn’t feel like it’s going to be much of anything; he might as well do something useful with it.

Jim says he’d be able to get Sam’s wings back, if that was something he wanted. Sam hasn’t given him any kind of answer, not yet.

He’d never imagined flying again, after Riley. Some part of him wonders what it would feel like, if it would feel like a betrayal of some kind. 

Maybe he’ll find out.

* * *

“You ready?”

“Sure,” Sam says, despite having no idea whether it was true or not. Can you ever really be ready for something like this?

“If you say so.” Jim's grin probably means he knows exactly what Sam's thinking, but he doesn't say anything else as he puts his hand on the scanner next to the door.

It flashes blue and then green, and Sam jumps as a not-quite-human voice comes out of nowhere. “Good to see you, Colonel Rhodes,” the voice says. “And welcome to your guest, as well.”

“Hey, Jarvis,” Jim says, glancing over at Sam as they walk through the door. “Tony's AI,” he explains as they go past a series of complicated-looking framed diagrams. “I know it takes a bit of getting used to.”

Sam just shrugs. One of the things he'd learned time and time again in the military was that the tech your average citizen thought the world had was always at least a few years behind reality. A hyper-realistic AI isn't actually that much of an adjustment, though Sam does wonder just how much details Jim gives his superiors when it comes to Stark's developments. Especially now the guy's moved out of weapons manufacturing.

He isn't about to bring that up now, though, and they turn a corner and are suddenly faced with -

“Rhodey! Babe, where have you been? Is this the famous Sam who’s been keeping you busy? Hi, Sam, nice to meet you, insert conventional small talk here - Rhodey, have a look at this, would this help maintain the boosters?”

Tony Stark - he’s very recognisable, though Sam hadn’t ever thought he’d actually meet the guy - thrusts a tablet into Jim’s hands and gives Sam a quick wave. He’s dressed down in a way that makes him look much more human that his weird suits-and-sneakers combinations do: jeans covered in oil stains and a long-sleeved t-shirt that doesn’t hide the quiet glow from the famous arc reactor.

“Hi, Tony,” Jim says with a grin. “Breathe. Yeah, this is Sam. Sam, meet Tony Stark.” Jim nudges Sam’s hand down from where he’d been about to offer a handshake. “Tony doesn’t really do shaking hands, you’re good.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sam says, nodding at Stark. “I’ve heard lots about you.”

“All terrible, probably, Rhodey’s known me much longer than anyone else - hey, did you meet everyone? Am I monopolising the boyfriend?”

Jim lets the tablet hang by his side and moves a few more steps into the room. “No and yes,” he says with a smile. Sam follows him, and looks over to see -

“Meet the Avengers,” Jim says, gesturing at the people sat in various positions around a giant TV. “Or, the Avengers minus Thor and Bruce.”

Sam frowns. He'd read all the articles – who hadn't – and he's obviously very aware of Thor, but he doesn't think he remembers anything about a Bruce. It seems like an oddly normal name for someone with superpowers.

“Aka the Hulk,” Jim says quietly. “But let's keep that between us, yeah?”

Who would Sam even tell? “Of course,” he says, trying not to stare at the three people sitting on the comfy-looking couches and armchairs ahead of him.

“Introduction time,” Jim says, leading Sam towards the small group. “Clint, Natasha, and Isaiah. Meet Sam Wilson.”

Sam had promised himself he wasn't going to be starstruck, but when he looks at - holy shit, at Isaiah Bradley he can't help himself. “It's really you?” He can feel himself blushing slightly as soon as the words leave his mouth, but come on; this is the guy who'd been on a poster in Sam's childhood bedroom. 

He decides not to mention the bedroom thing. Ever.

“In the flesh,” Isaiah says, not looking taken aback at all. Sam hadn’t been sure what to think when he’d heard about the new - or not-new, depending on which internet theory you subscribed to - Captain America. He’d thought for a while that someone else had finally been allowed to take up the mantle, and he’d spared a few moments to be glad that it had been handed on to another Black man - it wouldn’t have been a shock to hear that SHIELD had given the shield to some blue-eyed white guy, but it would still have been unbearable.

He’d heard all the rumours about it really being an Isaiah Bradley who’d spent decades trapped under ice, but even in this world of aliens and superpowers, he hadn’t quite been able to believe that.

Or - maybe he hadn’t wanted to hope for it. Can’t be let down when you hadn’t even been wishing for it, or however the saying goes.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says completely inadequately, hoping that Isaiah can read something of his true feelings from his expression.

Jim’s looking down at the tablet Tony had given him, muttering something to himself as he scrolls. “This isn't going to be stable,” he says firmly.

“Rhodey, you wound me,” Tony says, throwing one arm around Jim’s shoulders. “When have you ever, ever known me to create something with a hint of instability?”

Sam tries not to laugh at that; he's in Stark's home and it seems rude to, but he can't help but remember a couple of the more alarming stories Jim's told him about the days he and Tony had spent in the MIT labs.

Jim smiles at him, as if he knows what's Sam's thinking of. “You mind if I help Tony fix this?” He looks like he’d be unbothered either way, as though if Sam wanted Jim would stick by his side without question. 

Which is exactly why he isn’t going to ask him. “Sure,” Sam says. “I'll just -”

He gestures over to the couches, and leaves Jim and Tony to whatever heated discussion he figures they're about to get into. But when he gets over to the other three, he feels awkward all over again. Natasha and Clint are signing to each other, faster than Sam has a hope of understanding - he does know a little ASL, but he can’t hold a proper conversation - and Isaiah is curled up in an armchair with a book that he’d clearly been in the middle of when Sam and Jim had interrupted.

Sam still can't get his head around the fact that he's in the same room as Captain America – that the true Captain America really is alive, holy shit – but he's decided to table that for now. He really doesn't need to have a fanboy moment in front of someone who is essentially, in a very weird way, his maybe-partner's coworker.

Isaiah smiles and motions for Sam to sit down in the chair next to him, putting a bookmark in his book and leaning down to put it on the floor.

“You can read if you want,” Sam says, sitting down and immediately feeling like he's never been more comfortable in his life – does Stark Industries have a covert furniture business, or something?

Isaiah shakes his head. “All good. I have a lot to catch up on, but I’m taking it slow.”

“What’s been your favourite book so far?”

“Too difficult to answer,” Isaiah says immediately, which, fair enough. “I like this one, though. It’s so strange, to think about what was impossible to us and what is now impossible to you.” He makes a face Sam can’t quite read. “To us, still, I suppose,” he adds, and Sam abruptly thinks about how lonely it must be for him, to go on living in a world which had turned for decades thinking he was gone.

Sam looks down at the book, hoping Isaiah can’t tell what he’s thinking. It’s called The Martian, and he guesses it’s sci-fi. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it a go.”

Fuck knows he has more than enough time of his hands, these days. He might as well spend some of it reading.

“Hi,” Sam hears from the couch a few metres away. He looks over quickly to see that Barton and Romanoff are both looking at him. It had been Romanoff who had spoken.

“Um, hi,” he says back. “Nice to meet you both.”

“Sorry, that was rude of us,” Barton says, no longer signing. “Old argument. You going to be joining us, then? Hear you've got real wings.”

Sam blinks - he hadn't thought he'd be making any kind of decision today; this had just been an informal meeting.

“How about you join us for dinner first,” Isaiah says with a thread of amusement in his voice, and just then Jim and Tony reappear, Jim looking at Sam as though to say _whatever you want, we can leave now if you’d like,_ and -

“I’d like that,” Sam says honestly. “Dinner sounds good.”

* * *

Dinner had been excellent, and surprisingly not awkward at all. Once Sam had got past the fact that he was having dinner with the Avengers, he'd managed to hold a conversation with everyone. Except Natasha, which is maybe why she'd cornered him in the living room and sat down next to him. 

“So. You'll need a new name if you're really thinking about joining us,” Natasha says.

Sam isn't sure what his face looks like after hearing _new name,_ but Natasha quickly shakes her head. “Like I'm the Black Widow, I meant,” she adds. “I didn't choose mine. Neither did Isaiah. You should.”

Oh. That makes sense. “Falcon,” Sam says, hardly needing to think.

Natasha raises one eyebrow. “That was fast.”

Sam isn't sure if he wants to explain, but he has the feeling that Natasha will know when he can't talk about it, and she's been nice enough to him so far – he still can't really believe that he's sitting here talking to her so casually, but he can process all that later. “Riley,” he says quietly. “My partner in the EXO-7 project. My wingman. We thought up callsigns pretty much as soon as we got the suits.”

It's painful to think about, of course it is, but there's a bittersweet edge to it that makes him wonder if one day it won't hurt quite this much. He already know he’ll never want it to stop hurting altogether. Riley was too important for that. _Is_ too important.

Natasha looks at him carefully for a moment. “What was his?”

Sam wonders if that's all she wants to ask, or if she read what he wasn't saying from his expression. “Hermes,” he says, letting himself smile at the memory of Riley declaring himself a Greek God.

“Appropriate.” Natasha doesn’t really look like she’s smiling back, but Sam has the odd feeling that she is anyway. He likes her, he realises, and wonders if they might end up friends.

He still isn’t sure about joining the Avengers, but at least he knows he get on with them all now. That will be important, whether he flies with them or just ends up knowing them as Jim’s - something. Partner, he can’t help but hope, but it seems too soon to thinking about their relationship in those terms yet.

“Yeah, we told ourselves it was because of how hush-hush the project was,” he says, because Natasha hasn’t shown any signs of being bored yet, and because there are so few people Sam will let himself talk to about Riley. “Didn't want to be calling our own names out and all that. But we were alone up there, more or less.” Just the two of them, and the sky. Sam feels so far away from that sky right now. “Pretty sure we just wanted to give ourselves superhero names.”

“I chose my name.”

It might not seem like a subject change to anyone listening, but to Sam it is. From their callsigns to their personal names - something which Sam has a lot of feelings about. He remembers reading some article on all the complicated ways Russian nicknames and diminutives worked; how they could tell you how close two people were, what their relationship was, and he guesses that Natasha has more than a few emotions about it too.

He isn’t sure what she wants him to say. “You did?”

Natasha looks out of the window. Sam doubts she’s seeing the skyline; her gaze looks like it goes much further than that. “Black Widow was what other people called me. And my handlers gave me other codenames, or used my number. I chose Natalia myself. It was a long time before another person used it.”

Sam knows with an instinct he wouldn’t dream of questioning that Natasha doesn’t tell many other people this. He knows that she knows he’s trans; there isn’t really another reason for her to feel comfortable sharing a story about choosing her own name, and he realises that he doesn’t mind at all. He’d already given Jim permission to tell the team if it was relevant; he hasn't been on T all that long, and he isn’t even sure if he wants to be stealth or not yet.

He looks at Natasha, even though she’s still looking away. “Who was the first person?”

She touches the hollow of her throat, very gently. Sam notices a necklace there, an arrow on a delicate little chain. If he’d been asked a few days ago, he’d have said it was nothing like the jewellery he might expect the Black Widow to wear. “Clint,” she says, before making a motion with her hand that Sam recognises as sign language. “Not out loud. He fingerspelled it once and then gave me a sign name based on it. I didn’t realise until later how unusual that was for him.” She falls silent, but Sam doesn’t say anything yet. “It was what made me come with him, in the end.”

“Riley was mine,” Sam says, knowing that she’ll understand. He’s rarely comfortable around someone after only a few meetings - not that people realise that often; he’s always been good at putting others at ease - and he doesn’t really know why Natasha makes him feel that way when she could most likely kill him without breaking a sweat.

All he knows is that he’s pretty sure he has another friend now, and that’s something he will never, ever take for granted.

* * *

Sam hadn’t been planning on coming out to Riley. At least not until they’d both left the forces, and maybe not even then. But they’d had a week with no missions, and they’d been warned not to practice too much with the suits - drone technology was taking off to a terrifying extent, and the wingpacks were the kind of tech no-one wanted to be leaked. So it had been long days of card games and stupid jokes and little anecdotes about their lives that would have been meaningless if the people in the stories hadn’t been several timezones away. Talking about their families was just another way to say they missed them without having to admit it directly.

Riley had just finished up a probably-exaggerated story about how he and his sister had both dated the same girl in high school - he’d mentioned his sister dating girls so casually that Sam had felt nothing but relief - when he paused and looked at Sam carefully.

“Hey, how come I always call you Wilson but you call me Riley?”

Sam had been caught off guard in the way he always hated the most. He liked to be prepared for every conversation; he could joke around with other soldiers pretty much automatically at this point, and he knew how to deflect awkward questions or teasing about hookups or bodily functions that he’d prefer to never talk about. In most of his units he’d never quite let himself let go of all the things he carried with him; especially not around the men who he sensed would hit on him if he hadn’t made it clear that was off the table from the start.

But Riley was different; he had been for a long time now. Around Riley he always relaxed. Which made the way he tensed up at the question very, very obvious.

“Never mind,” Riley had said quickly, in that awkward way he had when he realised a subject needed changing but had zero clue how to do it subtly. Not a whole lot about Riley was subtle, which Sam honestly liked about him. He had sometimes felt strange about it, back when they’d first met. Hiding so much of himself from someone who was an open book had felt wrong. But it hadn’t taken him long to realise that he wasn’t hiding as much as he’d thought. Not really.

Riley didn’t know Sam was trans. But he knew the order Sam got dressed and put his flight suit on. He knew why Sam checked every buckle and fastening three times but never four. He knew that Sam could eat a chili mac MRE daily but had never even tried the chicken alfredo.

He knew the way Sam needed a few minutes to himself after getting an email from his sister full of photos of his niece, who was growing up faster than he could bear to think about sometimes. He’d seen Sam crying and bleeding and had never once turned away.

So many things that made Sam who he was. They were closer than Sam had ever been with anyone. Maybe - maybe telling him this wouldn’t change anything. Or it might be that it would, but in a way that would only make things more comfortable between them.

There was only one way to know for sure.

“I don’t like my first name,” Sam had found himself saying, deliberately slowing his breathing in an effort to stop his heart racing.

Was he really about to do this? Come out to the person he spent near enough every day with, thousands of miles from the place he used to call home, with no-one else around to turn to if things went wrong?

“Fair enough,” Riley had said easily, but Sam hadn’t let himself relax. “I’ll stick with Wilson. Hey, want me to fix up dinner? Can’t promise it’ll taste of anything good, but I feel like experimenting a bit.”

It could have ended there. Riley wasn’t going to use his birthname, and when it was just the two of them pronouns never really came up in conversation. Sam could just leave it at that, with his best friend still thinking of him as female but with Sam able to pretend that wasn’t the case.

He’d realised he didn’t want to in much the same way he’d realised he was a guy; as though it had been hovering over him for longer than he could remember; as though when it had settled into place around his thoughts it had felt _right_ in a way he didn’t want to question.

“It’s because I’m trans,” he’d said, and as soon as the words were out he’d felt almost like he had the first time they’d flown together. Like he was free when he hadn’t ever thought of himself as caged. Like he could do anything, be anything.

Riley had paused from where he was shaking one boot out, comically standing on one foot for way too long. Then he’d sat down on his bed, and said, “Oh. That - shit. That makes a lot of sense.”


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Sam’s phone and Jim’s vibrate at the exact same time, when they’re curled up on the couch watching Brooklyn 99. They glance at each other silently. It isn’t necessarily anything bad, but the fact that’s it’s been sent to both of them usually isn’t the best sign.

It’s from Natasha, and it isn’t an informative message.

**We’re meeting at SHIELD in an hour. Be there. Both of you.**

Sam taps out a quick **will be** on autopilot, then looks up at Jim. Who seems about as confused as he is. Normally if there was a crisis Jim would be sent directly to the scene, and if it was a routine briefing there would have been a lot more notice than an hour.

And then there’s the other thing.

Sam says what they’re both thinking. “Why was I invited?”

He doesn’t regret not joining the Avengers. Well, some days he does a little, but mostly he knows it was the right decision for both his mental health and - when he finally gets top surgery - his physical health as well. 

Jim’s already standing up, his expression closing off into what Sam privately calls his _War Machine_ look, not that he’d ever say that out loud. “No idea,” he says, grabbing his coat and shoes. “Let’s go find out.”

* * *

“No.”

“Sam, I would never lie to you,” Natasha says, looking as upset as Sam’s ever seen her - not that how she looks necessarily means all that much; he knows that if she wanted to she could wear any expression she liked, swapping anger for sadness as though they were nothing more than masks in a play.

That’s never once bothered him. He doesn’t know the half of what she’s been through, but he’s the last person who would judge anyone for their coping mechanisms - or just for how they are; he’s never sure when it comes to Natasha. They’re friends, real friends, even when Jim isn’t around.

Right now, though, after hearing what she’s just said, he just wants to turn away from her and leave.

 _Don’t shoot the messenger,_ he reminds himself. Fuck.

“I would have known,” Sam says again, stating it as firmly as he can manage, because he can’t let himself think about the alternative. “I would have known. There’s no way.”

He isn’t lying. He can’t see any way 

Unless - unless it was planned. If someone had known about the wingpacks in advance, had intercepted some kind of transmission about the Khandil mission, had a net or something waiting - they weren’t all that far off the ground when the missile hit, or at least Riley wasn’t -

No. It - no.

“We have a picture,” Natasha says after a few long seconds of silence. She looks reluctant, and Sam immediately feels like he’s going to throw up.

She slides it across the table to him. He looks down

It’s not possible. But -

“Riley,” Sam breathes out, 

Jim reaches his hand out and Sam grasps it blindly, clinging on to the only lifeline he feels he has right now.

* * *

“I’m going to go find him,” Jim says, with steel in his voice that Sam’s only heard once or twice before. “I’m going to bring him back.”

Sam shakes his head automatically, before he’s even really processed the words. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

“We have a plan,” Jim says calmly. “Sam, this isn’t just about you. We have an American soldier being kept prisoner. Along with one of our most valuable pieces of tech - don’t look at me like that, you know I don’t give a shit about saving the wings over Riley, but it’s how some people are going to think. I’m going.”

It isn’t the kind of statement that invites argument.

Sam leans back, away from Jim. Thinks about what he’d be doing if he could, if he knew he’d be any use to them. He half wants to offer himself anyway, but he’s not enlisted and he knows that would cause more trouble than it’s worth. “Come back,” he says in the end, curling one hand around the back of Jim’s neck and drawing him in for a long, fierce kiss. “Come back.”

Sam doesn’t say what he’s really thinking. 

_I don’t want to lose you both. I can’t lose you both._

* * *

Sam’s always hated feeling helpless. He’d rather be so afraid he can barely think straight than feel like there’s nothing he can do to change a situation. And right now both of those feelings are battling it out for space in his mind, and he can’t find it in himself to care which one is winning.

Jim and Natasha and the team they took with them, a mix of military and SHIELD agents, have been gone for two weeks. Sam’s last update had been three days ago. He thinks he slept last night, but it doesn’t feel like it. 

It’s Tony that calls him with the news. Sam doesn’t know why it’s him and he doesn’t care. 

“They’re on their way back, all accounted for,” Tony says, and Sam almost lets himself breathe easy again until he registers the tightness in Tony’s voice, the way he’s very clearly holding himself back.

Sam grips the phone, feeling the blood leave his hands. “Stark?”

“Rhodey got hit. He’s - he’s alive, but -”

Tony’s voice chokes on a sob, and Sam sinks down to the ground.  
“Tony?”

“He’s going to be okay, Sam,” Tony says, as though if he says it he can make it a reality. That’s something Sam’s always found kind of annoying about the guy - not everyone can just snap their fingers and expect the rest of the world to go along with their ideas - but right now he holds onto it. 

He’s going to be okay. He has to be. Jim’s only been in Sam’s life for a few months, but he doesn’t want to imagine it without him.

He’s going to be okay.

* * *

Jim can’t be transferred to a US hospital for a few days. Sam wants to fly out to Europe to be with him, but everyone tells him to stay put. He’s waiting at Bethesda when they bring him in, though he barely gets a glimpse of Jim on a stretcher before they’re rushing him off.

Sam looks blankly down the corridor Jim had disappeared down and wonders if there’s any point to following him. He doesn’t want to be a distraction.

There’s a cough behind him, a clearly deliberate one, and Sam spares a moment to wonder who it could be - this is a restricted-access floor, after all - before he turns around.

And - 

“Riley?”

* * *

Sam blinks awake with no sensation of where he is other than it’s overly bright and smells kind of antiseptic - so, a hospital room, then.

Riley’s leaning over him, so Sam must not be properly awake just yet. He decides to linger in sleep, to let himself have this moment of peace before he has to confront Riley’s death all over again. He’s not sure why his subconscious has given Riley so many scars; that seems unnecessarily cruel, but maybe it’s -

“Wilson. You’re not dreaming, asshole. Wake the fuck up.”

What?

“Wilson. Come on.”

Everything comes rushing back at once, it feels like, shards of different memories - Jim and Riley and had Sam really just _fainted?_ \- snapping back into place until he thinks he can just about sit up and start making sense of all this.

Except Riley - is it really him? - pushes him down again almost as soon as he’s had that thought.

“Nope. You hit your head when you passed out. Which, nicely dramatic there. Not quite the reunion I was hoping for.”

Sam doesn’t even know what to say first. “Jim,” he hears, and realises it was him that said it a second later.

“You mean Rhodes? He’s going to be fine. Well - you know. Partial paralysis. So not _fine_ fine. But Stark’s already thinking up ways to help him walk.”

That’s - that’s good, right? Sam isn’t really sure what his frame of reference for _good_ is anymore. 

“Riley,” he says, helplessly, like it’s the only word he knows how to say anymore. He feels like his world has been pulled apart and stitched back together all wrong.

“Sam,” Riley says, and it takes a moment before Sam realises why that sounds so odd. Riley had never called him anything other than Wilson before.

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “Changed it and all.”

Riley smiles down at him - it’s a little lopsided from where his face is scarred, but it’s clearly a smile. “Good for you,” he says, reaching out and resting his hand on Sam’s arm for a moment. 

Sam drifts back to sleep with tears in his eyes, not yet able to believe that Riley’s by his side.

* * *

The next time he wakes up it’s Natasha sitting next to him, and for a panicked moment he wonders if the last time had been nothing but a cruel dream.

“Riley’s having his first psych eval. Rhodes is out of his last surgery but hasn’t woken up yet. It went well. Everyone else is fine, except for you, because you didn’t eat and sleep enough for two weeks.”

Sam lets out his breath slowly after Natasha’s done with the status report. He’s glad she’s here, that she knew what he’d need to hear without him having to ask.

“Okay,” he says, sitting up and wincing as he moves his head. “Help me get dressed? I need to see - both of them, I guess. Fuck. How is this real?”

* * *

Riley’s much quieter than that first one-sided conversation when Sam was barely awake had led him to believe.

Jim’s talking the same way he always does, and Sam doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or if it means that the reality of the situation hasn’t sunk in yet.

Riley hasn’t made eye contact with him once.

Jim had made Sam leave the room when a nurse came in to change his catheter.

Sam doesn’t know what to do.

But he knows that they’re both alive. And that - that counts for so much. It’s enough. It has to be enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue. Thank you all for reading <3

* * *

Sam wakes up to the smell of coffee and the sound of his partner swearing loudly. 

“Fuck, why won’t it - oh, shit. Hi. Sorry, that wasn’t supposed to wake you up.”

Sam blinks his eyes a few times to make sure he’s awake, then looks towards the doorway where Jim’s trying to steer his chair one-handed - not actually that difficult; it’s a StarkTech model which isn’t even on the market yet - and carry a breakfast tray with the other hand.

Sam doesn’t jump out of bed to help. That might have been his first instinct a couple months ago, but they’ve both had a few things to adjust to since then. Sam knows not to offer help unless Jim asks, now, and in return Jim knows that he _can_ always ask. It’s a system that’s working pretty well.

Sam still gets anxious when he sees Jim doing something like balancing a tray with a mug of coffee and a plate of pancakes and syrup on one of his armrests, but Jim carefully puts in on the bedside table and then elbows Sam until he shuffles over on the mattress. Jim takes hold of the rails next to their bed and easily manoeuvres himself up, moving his legs until they’re lying in a position that won’t strain anything. 

“Happy birthday,” Jim says, smiling softly at Sam, and leans in to kiss him good morning.

“Happy birthday,” Sam mumbles into Jim’s smile, not caring that it’s nonsense. 

Jim pulls back with a laugh. “Nope, just yours today,” he says. “Breakfast in bed, you’re welcome. Maybe go brush your teeth first?”

Sam just blinks at him. “How long do we have before people show up?”

Jim tilts his head. “Long enough,” he says, and leans in to kiss Sam again.

* * *

Sam’s kind of surprised to see Isaiah and Riley together when he opens the door. It isn’t weird once he thinks about it - Riley’s been staying at the Tower since his return, with access to the best psychologists and doctors in the state, and Isaiah still lives there as far as he knows.

And then there’s the fact that both of them know what it’s like to come back from something no-one had ever expected them to survive. It’s not the first time he’s had that thought, and he tucks it away in the back of his mind.

“Come in,” Sam says, moving aside to let them through, noticing the careful way they move around each other, as though they know where the other wants to be at all times. No, it really isn’t surprising at all.

“How’re the new leg braces coming?” Isaiah asks Jim when they’re all gathered in the living room, pizza boxes and sodas fighting for space on Jim’s coffee table.

Jim laughs. “Good, yeah. I’ve been holed up in the lab with Tony for the last few days. Pretty sure he’s taken out a couple patents for things we haven’t technically invented yet.”

It hasn't been easy for Jim, getting used to his new limited movement range. There's been more than a few days when Sam knows he wanted to just give up, to never see another physio or specialist ever again, just stay inside and let the world go by without him. He hadn't done. But Sam knows those days won't be over. Today has been a good one so far, though, and hopefully it will stay that way.

“Yet being the important word, I’m guessing?” Isaiah sits down next to Jim and helps himself to a slice of pizza. Riley sits on the far side of the same couch, not touching Isaiah but not that far away from him either.

“You got it,” Jim says. I’ve roped in a few volunteers from my wheelchair basketball team to be testers. We’re hoping to have the first model on the market in the next couple years. Cost reduction’s a big priority, obviously - sorry, tell me to shut up if I’m boring you.”

Isaiah shakes his head. “No, it’s interesting. This is all so far beyond the medicine I grew up with. It sometimes doesn’t feel real.”

The doorbell rings again, and Sam knows exactly who it is as soon as he steps foot in the hallway; there’s no-one else who that high-pitched excitement could be.

He’s smiling as he opens the door to - yep, Sarah and Jody, Sarah holding a bottle of cider and Jody with what looks like a make-up bag in her hands.

“You brought nail polish for us?” Sam asks. 

“Happy happy happy,” is all Jody says before running into the house, kicking her shoes off and heading straight for the living room. “Birthday!” comes a shout from her two seconds later, and Sam and Sarah exchange a quick glance and start laughing.

“I mean, it’s the thought that counts,” Sarah says, taking her own shoes off and lining them up much more neatly than Jody had. “She did say happy birthday, even if you weren’t actually in the same room.”

Sam laughs again. “Yeah, I’ll take it.”

They make their way into the living room, where Jody’s hopping up and down in front of Riley and Isaiah.

Sam holds his breath. Riley isn’t scary-looking, he _isn’t,_ but burn scars are nasty and he’s got them running up most of the left side of his body from where the explosion took his wing off. Sam would never say it out loud, but he can see why some kids might be a little nervous around him.

But Jody, bless her, doesn’t seem bothered at all. “Is your favourite colour green?” she asks, for no reason Sam can determine.

“I like green,” Riley says, looking over Jody’s head to meet Sam’s gaze, and - _oh._ He’s almost smiling. Sam grins back - he feels like he’s had a smile on his face more often than not today, which is a weird but amazing feeling.

“I think you like green and yellow best,” Jody says in a tone of voice that really doesn’t invite disagreement. Riley will just have to pretend those are his favourites. She turns to Isaiah, who’s been watching the conversation with a soft look on his face, somewhere between amusement and just plain happiness. “I got red, white and blue,” Jody says, looking shy for the first time.

Sam knows that Jody stays in his old room when she’s visiting her grandparents. He really hopes she doesn’t think now’s a good time to bring up the faded Captain America poster that’s still there.

“Those are great colours,” Isaiah says solemnly. “But my favourite colour is actually purple. I don’t suppose you’ve got any of that?”

Jody nods frantically, her head bobbing up and down way too many times. “Yes purple! I have purple, and pink, and all the colours! Uncle Jim likes red, and you like purple, and - Mom?”

Sarah swallows her mouthful of pizza. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“And my mom likes gold,” Jody finishes, clearly just having wanted to make sure everyone’s attention was right where it belonged. Sam loves her so much it feels overwhelming sometimes. He’s so glad he got to come back to this. To all of this.

And to have Riley with him as well? It’s something he’d never even thought to hope for. He catches Jim smiling at him, and goes over to sit on the armrest next to him. Jody is sternly instructing one of the most famous superheroes of all time on the best way to paint his nails, and Sam just watches them for a while, trying not to be too obvious with how much he’s smiling when Riley asks Jody a question about colour matching.

Sam thinks back to his last birthday. He’d only been back from Afghanistan for a few weeks at that point. He hadn’t officially changed his name, he hadn’t made any steps towards a new life outside the forces. He - he hadn’t really thought about anything other than how to keep going, one day at a time. Some days even that hadn’t been a priority. 

He still has bad days. So does Jim. Sometimes they have them together, and Sam never knows if that feels better or worse than being alone. 

But - he has friends now. He’s always had his family, but now they know that they truly have him as well. He has a part-time job at the VA that might become full-time next month. He’s on hormones, he has surgery scheduled next year - and he has Jim.

If someone had told him, this time last year, how different his life would be now, he honestly doesn’t think he would have believed them.

Sam leans down to Jim, and quietly whispers the words he knows have been true for a long, long time now. 

Jim takes Sam’s hand and links their fingers together, holding him the same way he has so many times. “I love you too,” he says, looking up. “Happy birthday, Sam.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again Charlie for being such a wonderful and patient collab partner! I love your art so, so, so much. Everyone go reblog the pieces if you didn't already: [here](http://sororising.tumblr.com/post/165963210883/zamnwilson-lay-down-your-wings-by-sororising) is the Sam one and [here](http://sororising.tumblr.com/post/165952668718/one-half-of-the-incredible-art-by-zamnwilson-for) is the Rhodey one. 
> 
> And thank you for reading, I know this is a rarepair and I hope you liked the bits of their relationship you saw. There will absolutely be a sequel - feel free to ask for things you'd like to see in the comments. 
> 
> And in the meantime if you would like a canon-compliant interpretation of Sam/Rhodey, maybe check out [And If We Fall?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8646229/chapters/19828300)
> 
> Feedback both positive and negative is always appreciated, as is kudos <3


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